Father and Son
by Illegal Beagle
Summary: As an adult, Harry discovers his father had saved memories from his life and kept them in a cabinet in the Department of Mysteries. Using a Pensieve, Harry travels through the memories of his father's childhood, Hogwarts education, married life and short fatherhood. As close to canon as possible, Harry's POV. Focuses mostly on Lily and James. Disclaimer: I own nothing!
1. Dad's Death

Harry Potter stood in his office at the Ministry of Magic, staring out the window at the swarms of Muggles on the busy London street. His forehead lightly pressed against the glass, the heat of his breath creating a cloud beneath his nose. In his left hand he slowly rotated a small glass vial. The liquid contents were beginning to warm up from the heat of his skin. His usually bright office was in total darkness. The moving shapes in the photographs and newspaper clippings dotted around his walls were barely decipherable. His children waved silently from the photo frames, upon broomsticks, hugging their redheaded mother, or clutching struggling pets too close to their chests. Criminal witches and wizards stared him down from their 'wanted' posters.

His best friend Ron Weasley's pensieve sat conspicuously in a dark corner of the large room. Though he knew it wasn't real, Harry felt as if a cold air rose from the hollow stone basin, inviting him to cool off. He slowly turned away from the window and took a few steps towards the pensieve. He placed the vial in his hand on the edge of the basin, and gripped both sides of the bowl, leaning forward into the whispering mist.

He took a few deep breaths, and smiled. Harry wondered what it would be like to see this memory. After discovering his father had left him a diary of sorts in the Department of Mysteries, documenting much of his life in extracted memories, Harry had been completely consumed by the thought of escaping into his father's boyhood excursions for a few moments each day. There were almost a hundred memories. Some lasted hours, others only moments.

It had taken Harry a full hour of analysing the various vial labels to decide which memory to view first. He had been apprehensive, and not foolishly so. His first experience of his father's misadventures had left him somewhat damaged. He had decided that this first chosen memory was appropriate. It was a look into a part of his father's life he had never known, not from Lupin nor Sirius nor any memories before.

With slightly shaking hands, he uncorked the vial on the edge of the basin labelled "Dad's death" and emptied the contents into the pensieve. He took a deep breath, and sank into the mist.

Harry felt the familiar whooping sensation in his stomach as he travelled, as if through apparition, back in time to his father's memory. He landed with a quiet _thud _onto the rug in front of the Gryffindor Common Room fireplace. Excitement and adrenaline instantly filled his veins as Harry cast his eyes around the room. He had flashbacks of Quidditch victory parties, homework nights with Ron and Hermione, talks through the fire with Sirius using Floo Powder. He felt a slight pang of jealousy for his sons and daughter, experiencing all of this for the first time.

Seventeen-year-old James Potter was sitting on the window ledge, staring out at the grounds in the direction of Hagrid's cabin as the rain battered down against the glass. His messy, jet-black hair was slightly wet, as were his clothes. He was not in uniform; Harry suspected it might have been a Hogsmeade weekend. He was wearing a v-neck white t-shirt and black jeans with black boots. With a half-smile, Harry admired his father's style. James was alone in the common room. By the looks of the sky from the window, it was very early morning, between four and six. Harry inched closer tentatively, despite knowing his presence would not be felt. James was not wearing his glasses. Instead, they were strewn across the floor beneath the ledge, along with his bag and jacket. He was holding his knees up to his chest, a sizable piece of parchment in his hands. Harry rounded to face his father head-on, and saw his hazel eyes were red and puffy. His breathing was irregular and he was shaking. It gave Harry a good idea of what the letter contained. He tipped his head to the side to get a better angle of the parchment. He imagined it was his grandmother's handwriting. It was vaguely similar to his own, he thought with a slight smile. Harry took another look at his adolescent father and felt a wave of pity. Being an orphan was all Harry had ever known. Becoming one must have been even worse, Harry thought.

James inhaled deeply before letting out a sudden series of sobs. He buried his head in his knees, and crumpled the letter as he pressed his hands to his head. He eventually dropped the letter on the floor, to run his hands through his hair. Harry winced at the movement. It was the first time he had seen his father make this trademark reflex of his out of stress, and not confidence or to attract attention.

As he watched his father weep, Harry vaguely wondered why he had chosen to show him this. It was harrowing, and concerned close family of Harry's, he supposed, but it was not particularly insightful. Before he had a chance to leave though, a noise came from the staircase across the common room. At the mouth of the entrance to the dorms, a beautiful girl was leaning against the stone wall. Her long, auburn hair was in a ponytail, revealing a porcelain face, and mesmerising almond-shaped green eyes. The penny dropped as Harry stared with adoration at his teenage mother. He would have blushed under her intense gaze, had he not known she was staring straight through him, to his tormented father on the window ledge.

Harry stepped back to get a view of both his parents as Lily Evans calmly and gracefully crossed the common room to her future husband. James stiffened as he felt the presence of another person, but did not turn to see who it was, until she softly spoke his name.

"Potter? Are you alright?" The softness of her voice was uncharacteristic for addressing his father, Harry knew. At this age they were still nemeses, at divides over his mother's relationship with Severus Snape. Nonetheless, James' head snapped up at the sound of her voice. His hands jumped to his face, in an attempt to wipe away the tears before she saw them.

"Um, I'm fine, Evans" James mumbled into his hands. He did not seem to question Lily's presence in the common room so early in the morning. Harry watched as a slight look of horror developed on Lily's face. Clearly, she had never seen James exuding any emotions other than confidence and glee. She bent down and slowly picked up the letter on the floor. She began to read it, when James suddenly stood up and snatched it from her hands with such force that she received a paper cut.

He froze as she gasped at the sight of her own blood. Lily looked up at James, with an element of fear in her eyes. She stood back to let him pass her and continue storming towards his dorm. Her look of apprehension shocked James. He took a step towards her, again wiping his eyes with his sleeve before sniffing and whispering, barely audibly, "Evans, I'm sorry." He took her bloody hand in his and pulled his wand from his pocket. He mouthed an incantation and they watched together as her skin painlessly resealed and the trickles of blood disappeared. Lily looked up at James as he continued to stare at their hands. Harry's heart began to beat with increased pace. He understood that this was probably the first remotely intimate moment his parents had ever shared, hence his father's desire for it to be documented, but still he felt like an intruder, as if he should look away for their privacy. He remained transfixed by the chemistry between the two teenagers in front of him, however. He watched as James' gaze eventually rose to meet Lily's. She took a half-step closer to him, and closed her newly-healed hand around his.

"James, is it your father," she whispered. She leaned her head slightly to the side, to get a better view of his eyes beneath his untidy fringe. The boy closed his eyes and nodded once, before biting down on his lip hard, in an attempt to conceal another burst of sobs. Lily sighed sympathetically, before taking both her hands up to James' cheeks. She stroked away his tears with her thumbs.

"I'm so sorry. So, so sorry," she said softly. She took another half-step towards James before wrapping her arms around his neck. He reciprocated by digging his head into her shoulder and hugging her waist tightly. They gripped one another so tightly in the embrace, Harry could have sworn he felt the physical heat between them radiate the few metres towards him.

Lily and James remained entwined in one another, with James' occasional convulsion of sobs, for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, she broke it off, and took a step away to look at James. He seemed to be composing himself. He took a deep breath and gave her a sad half-smile.

"Thanks, Evans," he said, waving his hands between the two of them. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Harry suspected his father was mentally kicking himself for referring to Lily as "Evans" despite her addressing him by his forename for probably the first time ever. She smiled at him, and squeezed his elbow.

"You should go up to bed, get some sleep before your mother comes for you in the morning," she advised, but something in her tone told Harry she wasn't being so sincere. Harry looked at his father, who glanced in the direction of the staircase to the dorm, before taking a seat again on the window ledge. Out the window, it had stopped raining, and the sun was beginning to rise. James motioned to Lily for her to sit down beside him. She hesitated momentarily before taking a seat. Their knees knocked together and Lily exhaled before putting an arm around James' neck, and smiled, gazing at him.

"I promise that you'll be okay, Potter. Time is a healer, and you've got Black, and Remus and the others, and you've still got your mother," she said soothingly. Her words were so slow and sweet, Harry imagined how wonderful it would have been for that voice to have read him stories each night of his childhood. He felt a strong desire to close his eyes. James was apparently feeling similarly; he drooped his eyelids, and smiled softly. He then returned her gaze for a moment, mouthing a silent 'thank you' before his eyes moved to analyse the sparse freckles on her nose, the rosiness of her cheeks, the fullness of her lips. She was even more beautiful close up, and this was the closest James had ever been. They were close enough now to feel the heat of each other's breath. Lily watched as the boy drank in her features with his hazel eyes. Harry saw his mother gradually become lost in a trance, relaxing and leaning her body further into James', her eyes on his all the while, waiting for his gaze to meet hers once again.

James moved his hand around Lily's back; it crept up until it found a few strands from her ponytail. He toyed with her lovely red locks between his fingers before finally looking her in the eye again. His breathing increased. Time seemed to move at glacial pace as he inched towards Lily's lovely lips with his own. She never blinked, nor averted her stare. Their foreheads touched lightly, then Lily closed her eyes. James saw the corners of her mouth twitch upwards ever so slightly, and it seemed all the invitation he needed. He leaned the rest of the way in, placing a soft kiss on the side of her mouth, before closing his eyes as well. They both grinned widely before Lily leaned in to give James a return kiss. It lasted a few moments longer, and James let go of the strand of red hair he was coiling around his finger to put his hand right round her waist. Lily responded by putting one arm around his neck and a hand to James' cheek, stroking it ever so gently.

Harry stood up. He had enjoyed watching the tenderness of the moment unfold. He was glad for his parents that this had been their first kiss with one another, it seemed fitting. He moved back towards the end of the room he had come from, with a single backward glance to the lovestruck teenagers on the windowsill.

Harry Potter sighed for his parents as he returned to his office, wishing with all his heart they could have had a future beyond their five remaining years.


	2. My Sorting

Harry sat at his desk, toying with a small glass vial in his hand, not for the first time that week. He had replayed the image of his mother and father on the Gryffindor common room window ledge time and again, since he watched it in the Pensieve, courtesy of his father's memories. How often had he sat there with Ron and Hermione? How many times had he stared out of that window to Hagrid's cabin, or to the forest, wishing and wondering about the parents he never knew, only to discover they had kissed on that very spot over a decade earlier.

Harry waited three days before deciding to enter another of James' memories. He counted the vials, which meant he could go through them for a whole year at this pace. The last had been sad, so Harry decided to pick a memory in which he knew his father would be happier. He stood up from his desk and reached the Pensieve on the other side of his office. He affectionately fingered the 'R.B.W' initials carved into the edge of the basin, before uncorking the vial labelled "My Sorting" and emptying the contents into the misty pool.

Harry landed in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Four long tables of uniformed young witches and wizards filled the room. Candles floated between the students and the illusion of the night sky across the ceiling. Colours of red and gold, blue and white, yellow and black, and green and silver shone from flags above the corresponding tables. He glanced at the Teachers' Table once before his eyes rested on the magnificence of Albus Dumbledore, sat in his gold throne. He looked healthy, Harry thought, and happy. He could see the familiar twinkle in the aged wizard's eyes, but he stared beyond the first-years before him, as if he were distracted by his own thoughts, most likely of the war raging in the wizarding world beyond the safety of Hogwarts' castle walls.

Minerva McGonagall strode forward from the top table and shushed the youngsters in the front of the hall, acquiring silence instantly. Harry smiled at the memory of the woman's stern manner, and her occasional, timely wit.

Harry pleasurably watched the Sorting begin as vaguely familiar names cropped up, such as 'Abbott' (who went to Hufflepuff, as would eventually his niece Hannah) and 'Black' which Harry was unsurprised to see belonged to a lanky, handsome, long-haired, 11-year-old Sirius. Before long, 'Evans' was called, and a squirm of excitement conjured in Harry's stomach at seeing his mother again. He watched the back of her auburn head bob up the steps to the Sorting Hat, before she turned directly to face him, and the rest of the students.

Harry gasped as the girl and her piercing green eyes came into plain view. He had seen this memory before, portrayed by Severus Snape, but it had been over twenty years ago. Harry stared at his aged-11 mother, awestruck by the resemblance she bore to her own granddaughter. Harry felt a pang of sickness for his beautiful daughter, Lily Luna. She had just left for Hogwarts for the first time. Harry wanted to pause the memory, capture it in a photograph and run home to his wife with it. How perfect that his mother and his daughter should create such a mirror image of one another- with a few distinct differences, of course- two generations apart.

Harry watched Lily skip off the stool towards the Gryffindor table, amid cheers from her fellow housemates. She plopped down next to Sirius, and upon recognising him, promptly turned her back.

The Sorting continued, and Harry watched his cocky father wait for the Sorting Hat to be placed on his head. Barely a moment passed before it cried "GRYFFINDOR" and the red and gold table erupted once again.

Harry had not seen this part of the memory, Snape's of course had led to the Slytherin table. Harry felt slightly stupid about standing over the table of first-years, despite knowing full well he was invisible.

His young father was chatting enthusiastically to another boy, who Harry instantly recognised as Remus Lupin. Harry smiled, as the resemblance between the late werewolf and his son was stark. The kind eyes Remus had passed on to his boy were glancing periodically at Lily, despite his chat with James. They were noting her discomfort at being at opposite ends of the Hall to her only companion.

Remus finished his conversation and chirped up, "So, where are you from?" He looked at Lily, imploring her to respond. Harry acknowledged that this olive branch would probably have taken some courage to extend from the shy werewolf. He felt grateful to Lupin in that moment for his kindness to his overwhelmed mother.

"I'm from Surrey," said Lily, giving him a slightly apologetic look, suggesting there wasn't much else to say about the place. "Whereabouts are you-" but she was cut off by James, who had leapt into action when he saw the exchange going on between his new friend and this girl who had caught his attention on the train.

"I'm from London; my family live in a huge house in the middle of the city because we have to be close to the Ministry of Magic because my parents are both Aurors. In fact, my family is full of Aurors," boasted James. He waited for a response from Lily, who Harry saw was completely lost by his references to a 'Ministry', and 'Aurors'. Before James could continue, though, Sirius chipped in dryly, "Lucky you, my family's crawling with Death Eaters."

James clearly didn't appreciate the more interesting input from Sirius, nor Remus' beginning of an explanation to Lily of the Ministry of Magic. He fell silent and stared into his mashed potatoes, until a small, chubby, watery-eyed boy on his other side asked him, "So have your parents put people in Azkaban?"

Harry recognised the weasel Wormtail instantly. He looked up at James with admiration and awe, and Harry watched as his father basked in the attention, and proceeded to describe in detail various acts of bravery Harry's grandfather had performed throughout his career. Every so often, when James would mention a name of a particular witch or wizard, he would glance at Sirius, wondering if it was perhaps a relation. Sirius, however, was deep in conversation with a pretty blonde girl who Harry did not struggle notice seemed completely captivated by the handsome boy, despite looking like she was in at least third year.

Harry blinked as his surroundings began to blur. The memory was concluding; James had shown Harry the Marauders' First Supper. Harry smiled. The last vivid image he took with him before returning to his office: his young father showing off to the boy beside him, creating a friendship that would eventually lead to his doom.


	3. First Quidditch Match

Harry had created a rather enjoyable routine. Every Monday and Thursday, before going home from work, he would take the four-minute elevator from his office in the Ministry to the Department of Mysteries, and walk through the skyscraper-height aisles, taking a left, a right, then a further two lefts, to reach the locked filing cabinet containing his father's catalogued memories. Harry would rifle through them for a while, trying to decide on a label that suited his own mood, before resealing the cabinet magically, walking back through the aisles, getting back in the elevator, returning to his office, locking the door to avoid disturbance, and delving into his father's past.

It was not just the insight into his father's life Harry liked to experience in the memories. The almost-return to Hogwarts he made twice a week allowed him to recall moments of bliss from his own time there. Skimming stones on the lake with Ron, sneaking out after hours under his Invisibility Cloak to visit Hagrid, laughing with other Gryffindors through the courtyard at what Seamus Finnigan had done to set his eyebrows alight that week.

Harry gripped the sides of the Pensieve, more enthusiastic than ever before, and grinned wildly as he watched his latest choice of memory mix into the fog of the basin. Harry took a deep breath and plummeted into the scene of James Potter Senior's "First Quidditch Match".

It was a warm October morning. Harry was making his way across the grounds towards the Quidditch pitch behind the Gryffindor house team. His stomach was doing somersaults of excitement. Despite watching Ginny play professional Quidditch for years before their children were born, and for a brief while afterward, there was no atmosphere on Earth that could quite compare to the opening Hogwarts match of the Quidditch season. Harry glanced around the faces of the red and gold team to find James. His father looked about thirteen now, much taller than he was at the Sorting, though not as tall as Harry, and his hair was longer, and messier. He was also green.

James looked as if he was about to pass out with nerves as he entered the Quidditch arena with the other players. Harry recalled with fondness his first captain, Oliver Wood's, story of passing out for a week following his own first match. Harry hoped his father would fare better, he didn't fancy watching a Hospital Wing emergency this afternoon. The first match was against Hufflepuff, Harry saw from the strips of the team already on their broomsticks. Harry laughed out loud (now completely comfortable with the idea that he was invisible in these memories) at the twist of irony as he saw the name on one Hufflepuff strip. "Diggory" was captain. Harry looked at Amos as he extended a hand to the Gryffindor captain, who gripped it tightly. Cedric, he remembered with slight sadness, had been just as courteous, but had been far more handsome, definitely taller, and would probably have won this game for his team.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that proximity might be a bit of an issue in this memory. From which angle could he watch? Another broomstick, or would he simply float in mid-air beside his father for the duration of the match? He supposed he had better get to the stands. He took a front-row seat with the Gryffindors as the game began. His father was an excellent Chaser, scoring three goals in the first thirty minutes. The crowd exploded on each occasion, and Harry watched particularly for his mother as she smiled every time his father caught the Quaffle. He noticed that she would turn her head away from her gaggle of girlfriends to hide her enthusiasm. He was sat very close to her, close enough to see the rosiness of her cheeks, her sparse freckles, white teeth, and the shine in her eye every time she watched James zoom by on his Nimbus 1000. James was looking much better now, the first few goals had him back to optimum cockiness level, and his hair was messy as it had ever been. Harry watched his father with envy as he flew through the air, recalling the freedom the sport. Harry had never felt more alive at Hogwarts than on a broomstick. He smiled at his father and made a mental note to go for a fly with Ginny that weekend.

The match continued throughout the afternoon, and Harry watched with enjoyment as Diggory Senior and the Gryffindor Seeker, whose colouring was suspiciously similar to that of the Weasleys', raced between the stands in a clear determined effort to reach the Golden Snitch first. James and the other players had slowed down to watch the speeding pair (although they flew considerably slower than in Harry's era, he noticed) close in on the end of the match. Both boys outstretched their hands, and disappeared behind the Staff Stand to continue the chase. The entire crowd fell silent, waiting with bated breath for the players to return, one victorious.

Suddenly there came a flash of red and gold, as the Gryffindor seeker zoomed around the stand, a tiny gold ball clutched in his right hand. Harry's stand exploded and he himself started to cheer loudly and clap as his predecessor did a victory lap around the stadium. Harry watched his father punch the air and join his teammates in a broom formation for a few laps, a big grin around his face. James eventually broke away and landed on the stand, a few metres from Harry, to throw his arms around Lupin and Sirius and Peter. They all clapped together before Sirius yelled, in a deeper voice than was normal for a thirteen-year-old, "PARTY IN THE GRYFFINDOR COMMON ROOM," which was met with further cheers all through the stand.

Harry watched as his mother and her girlfriends began to shuffle out of the stand. James spotted the redhead immediately and tried to weave towards her, without making it too obvious. He leapt from an upper bench and landed right in front of her, still clutching his broom.

"See my goals, Evans?" James questioned, a keen look in his eye. He leaned closer to her, "Did it make you want to go out with me, even just a little bit?"

Harry watched his young mother lean towards James, a look of innocence to rival a baby deer upon her face. She got close enough to the boy for him to hear her whisper, before her face contorted to an expression of utter incredulity and she hissed, "_No, Potter!" _

Lily flounced off in a manner not dissimilar to a young Hermione's. Sirius crept up behind James and whispered in his ear, "It's okay darling, you'll get her eventually," before feigning an emotional moment by tightly hugging James around the shoulders, closing his eyes and muttering, "mmmmm."

Harry had to laugh. His father's look of horror was a picture, before he whipped out his wand and poked Sirius in the eye with it. Soon, the image began to haze again. Harry suspected that that was not the first time Lily had rejected James. He had to admire his father's persistence, if nothing else. Soon, Harry's office reappeared, but not before he saw his father take one last, longing glance at the back of Lily Evans' auburn head.


	4. The Furry Little Problem Revealed

After the last, Harry decided to start working in basic chronological order with his father's memories. He reasoned that he would be able to form an accurate timeline of his father's experiences at Hogwarts and beyond more easily. Harry was sitting at the top of a stepladder, about twelve feet up in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry. His father's 'memory cabinet' was open, and since Harry had finished work hastily that Monday, he had time to categorise the memories properly. He strongly suspected his father had simply extracted the thoughts as he recalled them, and not in any particular order. Harry had three basic categories: there were about fifteen entries that he believed to be James' life pre-Hogwarts, around fifty of his time in Hogwarts with the Marauders and Lily, and forty or so which were post-Hogwarts. Harry wished he was less excited about the post-Hogwarts memories, as he wanted to savour the earlier ones without being desperate to get to titles like "First Encounter With Voldemort" and "The Birth of Harry James Potter" and "The Order".

Although he knew it would be sensible to begin the pre-Hogwarts memories now, Harry wanted one final indulgence into his father's mischief. He unclipped a vial from the case and locked the cabinet. He reached the floor of the Department and only just contained his desire to break into a run, all the way back to his office, all the while clutching his father's memory, "The Furry Little Problem Revealed".

Soon enough though, Harry was in his father's Gryffindor dormitory. As he stared around at the appalling mess before him, he was instantly glad that Pensieve memories didn't provide a sense of smell. His father's bed was easy enough to spot, and as Harry approached it he saw it had a large blanket over the quilt of a Golden Snitch, and was also covered with Quidditch magazines, spare change, old quills and other stuff. On the bedside table sat a pair of round glasses, and a balled-up piece of parchment that had a large, beating loveheart and a picture of Lily in it. Beneath, in Sirius' scratchy writing, was:

_"JP, You need never sleep alone again ;-) Happy birthday you lovesick old swine! SB"_

Harry laughed lightly at the magic, that had Lily plaiting her hair and batting her eyelashes. Harry wondered vaguely why the picture was crumpled, given his father was at the height of his infatuation with the girl. He turned opposite to face a quagmire of duvet, books, empty Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans boxes and balled-up socks, with the occasional cut-out of Muggle motorcycles. Sirius. Harry didn't dare get too close. He moved through the room towards the bathroom, and round the corner where he saw the four Marauders sitting at the window. He passed two comparatively neat beds, presumably Lupin and Peter's, to reach the conversation being had on the sill.

James was sitting on the left of the window ledge, opposite a clearly emotional Lupin. Out the window Harry could see it was dusk, and turned back to Lupin for signs that a full moon was approaching. He had bags under his eyes, his hair was a mess, he was pale and there was something hollow about his features. He was staring determinedly at his feet, refusing to acknowledge any of the boys. Sirius stood facing the two, one hand on his hip and the other in his hair. He clearly seemed stressed. Peter sat cross-legged on the floor at Lupin's feet and looked up at him. His large bottom strained his blue striped pyjamas. The boys looked about the same age as they did in the Quidditch match, Harry thought. They were almost certainly in third year.

Harry edged closer, full of pity for poor Lupin. James began to speak.

"We know you're hiding something, Remus," he said darkly, "and you don't get to leave this room until you tell us what it is, until you start to let us help-"

"James, I'm sorry but you've totally misread the situation, it's not my fault, my family has a history of poor health, sometimes I'm ill, sometimes it's Mum-" Lupin continued to stare at the floor.

"Bullshit, Lupin. Every month at the full moon your Mum gets the flu? She's a Healer, what use could you possibly be to her anyway?" Sirius snapped. "Tell us the truth." Peter's head went from James to Lupin to Sirius.

"Remus," James began, and Peter's head turned again, "we are your friends. If there's something we can do to help," James shrugged, putting a hand on Lupin's shoulder, "let us."

"Just let us _in, _Remus," said Peter softly, his watery eyes seeming almost earnest, Harry acknowledged with reproach.

Sirius began to pace as silence fell once again, Lupin still not ready to talk. James tightened his grip on his friend's shoulder and took a deep breath and exhaled. He looked from Peter, to Sirius, and back to Lupin. He searched the poor boy's face for signs of meeting his gaze, but when none came, James whispered to him, almost inaudibly, "We know, mate, and we don't care. We really don't."

Lupin's head snapped up. He looked James right in the eye and said, "You don't know what you're talking about!" He got to his feet and attempted escape from his ambush. Harry saw a tear make its way down Lupin's face as he ducked past James. Sirius, however, was having none of it. He leapt in front of Lupin, and with both hands on his shoulders, pushed him backwards and sat him back down on the windowsill. James threw an arm around Lupin's neck, and before he lost his nerve, looked his friend in the eye and said simply, "You're a werewolf, Remus."

Sirius and Peter eyed the boys on the sill, carefully looking for acknowledgement.

Harry struggled to watch as Lupin began to shake, and tears fell more rapidly down his face. Sirius knelt at his knees, beside Peter, and looked up at his distraught friend. "Mate, we've suspected you since first year, it's really no surprise. In fact," Sirius straightened up and put his hands in the air, "if you think about it, it's pretty damn cool! You're a wolf, Remus! A wolf! Sometimes! Brilliant!" James gave Sirius a smirk as his handsome friend became slightly manic with excitement. "We can help you, with your- your problem!"

James chipped in, "In all seriousness though, it's not like you've got dragon pox."

Peter, clearly overwhelmed at being privy to such a top secret, had turned bright red. Harry half expected him to start squealing like the rat he already resembled.

Lupin calmed down, as he slowly came to terms with what his friends were saying. "You- you're not going to tell anyone?" He looked up at the boys, now all standing around him, and they beamed at him.

"Of course not!" thundered Sirius, "it'll be our little secret!"

"I can't believe you've been going through this alone all this time, Remus," Peter sighed. Harry looked at his father, who was smirking as he rubbed his temples with his fingers. He glanced at Sirius, and the pair shared a nod before taking a seat on either side of Lupin. Peter, realising there would not be space for him of the ledge, instead ungracefully fell to the floor to resume his cross-legged seat. He stared up at the others, waiting for the next element of the revelation.

"Remus, Sirius and I have guessed for a while... And getting it out of you, I suppose, has been the toughest bit yet, but we have formulated a plan to help you... Every month," James finished. Lupin glared at him.

"No way, absolutely not. You don't come with me to the Shrieking Shack, not ever. I won't let you put yourselves in danger-" Lupin insisted.

"Well here's the beauty of the plan, mate," Sirius began, "because James and I happen to be quite intelligent, we thought of an alternative to three boys stroking a werewolf's nose, brushing his tail and singing him lullabies once a month. We are going to transfigure into animals!" Sirius even threw his hands in the air for effect. Lupin looked baffled.

James turned to him. "Remus, we are going to become animagi. We've looked up the potions and transfigurations and the process, and we've picked animals... I'm going to be a deer, well a stag," he said with a hint of smugness, "Sirius is going to be a big dog- for a change, and Peter will be a rat, so we can all get under my cloak at night, and get in and out of the shack using the tunnel under the Willow and stuff. Sirius and I will be big enough to deal with you if you get out of control-"

But Lupin cut him off. "James, stop it, just stop. You're being ridiculous, it takes _years _to become an Animagus, and besides, there's a _register, _if you do this you're breaking the law, and if the potion goes wrong, God forbid-"

"We anticipated this, my friend" Sirius interrupted_, "_however you seem to have forgotten JP and I really don't mind a bit of rule-bending, and of course, Peter's up for it, and we'll get it right."

"There's a slight difference between sneaking out of Hogwarts after dark and _breaking international magical law, Sirius!" _Lupin was still on his feet, colour beginning to return to his cheeks. "I just can't let you do this, none of you," he looked around at his friends, "not for me."

Silence fell for a short moment, as James, Sirius and Peter stood together staring at Lupin. Peter gazed up at the others for guidance. James exchanged a brief look with Sirius, before announcing, "Well I'm off to the library to extract everything they have on turning me into game at will," he smiled at Lupin. "Will you resume your search for a safe place to create the potion and perform the appropriate spells away from prying eyes, my friend?" James asked, eyeing Sirius, who replied with a courteous nod and bowed out of the conversation and walked straight out the door. Lupin rolled his eyes and sighed, before falling back down to the window seat. Peter plopped down next to him and reached for a box of Chocolate Frogs. He patted Lupin on the back and smiled.

James walked straight past Harry's position at the window and reached his own bed. He gathered up some books and quills and stuffed them in his bag, before returning to Lupin once more, and crouching slightly to meet his eye.

"Love you, Loopy. Please, just let us help. God knows you'd do it for us." James smiled, shook his friend's hand, smiled at Peter, and left the dormitory.

The room began to fuzz as the memory ceased. The fullness of Harry's heart at that moment was almost incomparable. A solitary tear slid down his cheek. As he sat back in his office chair again, Harry wondered whether the feeling stemmed from love, or admiration, or simply dire, dire sadness, that not one of those boys reached forty, or saw their sons grow up, or really lived at all. Harry buried his face in his hands, his wedding ring rubbing against his eyebrow, and wept.


	5. Sirius Tries to Murder Snivellus

To hell with chronology, Harry thought, skipping out of his office on a summery Thursday afternoon, he was ready to indulge in more adventures of the Marauders, and earlier that day, had thought of the perfect memory. Harry had heard his godfather and Lupin talk about the time James had saved Snape's life at the Whomping Willow in fifth year, and he had seen Snape discuss it with his mother as a teenager in Snape's memories, but he had never properly experienced it.

As Harry made his way through the Department of Mysteries, he tried to remember the label James had given the memory. He reached the enormous cabinet and began to ascend the stepladder to reach the drawer containing his father's documented life. Coming across a vial labelled "Sirius tries to Murder Snivellus" Harry smirked at his father's immaturity, before making his way back to his office.

The gloriously familiar feeling of falling through time towards the memory encapsulated Harry, before he landed face-first into the grass on the Hogwarts grounds. Harry stood up, and as he brushed himself off, he immediately sensed urgency, and danger. He looked around quickly. He was at the front entrance of the grounds. The castle was spotted with lights of teachers' offices, but the dormitory towers and corridors were otherwise in total darkness. The lake shone from the reflection of the sky, and Harry was unsurprised to see it was a full moon. He heard a whisper coming from close by him. Harry jumped, and out of habit whipped out his wand, as he saw three sets of footprints form on the wet grass barely a metre away from him. The feet that created them, Harry knew, were hidden under the Invisibility Cloak. He could hear his father, his voice much deeper than it had been in the last memory.

"Evans is definitely getting suspicious, which is especially unhelpful since she still lets _Snivelly_ cling to her robes. We can't have him finding out anything," spat James.

Harry followed the footprints towards the Whomping Willow, and heard the boys mutter briefly, before a large grey rat appeared as if from nowhere and scuttled towards the tree. Harry watched as "Scabbers" cleared the way for the invisible boys. Harry assumed Lupin was already in the Shrieking Shack. Behind him, Harry heard the rustle of bushes, and he gasped as he saw a scrawny black-haired boy in Slytherin robes begin to approach the tree from afar. He could see instantly that Snape would not reach the mouth of the tunnel before the tree sensed his presence, he was still so far away...

Harry heard the boys disappear into the tunnel, and followed quickly. He heard the stairs creak as the invisible boys followed the rat all the way to the Shack. Harry remained at the door, so he would know when to run back alongside his father to see the rescue.

James and Sirius shrugged off the Cloak, and sat down on the bed beside Lupin, who was curled up, sweating, and breathing heavily. He was ghostly white, except for red blotches on his face, like a rash, and huge dark black circles around his eyes. It saw an unpleasant sight, but Harry had seen it before. He watched as Sirius stared into space, occasionally snatching a glance at James. He was clearly beginning to rethink his decision to lure Snape to the Shack. He shot a quick look at the door, when James asked,"Padfoot, what is it?" He added with a grin, "Are you expecting more company?" Sirius' hesitation was all it took. Harry's father leapt off the bed, and stared straight at his best friend. "Padfoot, what did you _do?"_

Sirius stood up, about to explain, when a blood-curling scream could be head from the mouth of the tunnel. Like a rabbit in headlights, James froze, before Sirius, as means of explanation, spat, "_Snivellus." _

Harry followed his father as he tore down the stairs, leaving a squirming Sirius, a fearful-looking Peter, and a petrified Lupin in the Shack. Harry clambered out the tunnel to see a huge branch of the Whomping Willow careering towards him. Despite not really being there, he ducked anyway, and watched as his father ran forward and pinned Snape to the ground as a second branch came up behind him. James dragged Snape to safety, before Harry saw Wormtail press the critical root with his paw to steady the tree. Harry looked back to see James and Snape both had their wands out. Snape was bleeding from his forehead, from the blow he received before James reached the scene, Harry assumed.

"GET OUT OF HERE, SNAPE," roared James, hysterical with fear, adrenaline and an overwhelming sense of urgency to get back to Lupin. Harry knew Sirius would not be able to deal with the werewolf alone. Snape was panting, but his bloodied face was contorted into a look of utmost hatred, "Black thought it'd be really funny to try and get me killed, did he? I know what you're hinding in there, _Potter,_" Snape spat, "and I'll get proof, you mark my-"

With an aggressive stroke of his wand, James sent Snape flying forty feet back. He landed badly, and struggled to stand as James screamed, "_GO!_" before storming straight past Harry and disappearing back into the hole.

Harry watched as Snape slowly got back to his feet, and began to brush himself off before he realised the tree was waking up again. He staggered backwards, and turned back to limp as quickly as he could to the safety of the castle. Harry thought the boy resembled a giant bat more so than ever before as his robes flapped in the wind and his greasy black hair shone against the moonlight. The moonlight... Harry staggered back through the tunnel.

He re-entered the Shack to see two of the boys in the middle of a heated argument, as the fat grey rat sat watching on Lupin's quivering shoulder.

"What the _hell _were you thinking? What if he'd been killed?" cried James, throwing his hands up in the air as Sirius stood in one spot, looking only mildly melancholy.

"In all fairness, Prongs-" Sirius began.

"Do _not _tell me that that was the point," James cut him off. "What would've happened if he's died? What if he had told someone it was you that lured him here? You'd be expelled, Moony's secret would be out, and so he couldn't stay, and then where would we be?" James motioned dramatically to the rat at this point. "You _idiot, _Padfoot." The two boys stared at each other for a long while. Lupin then stirred on the bed. He picked Wormtail off his shoulder and sat up.

"And worst of all," he began solemnly, staring at Sirius, "what do you think Prongs' chances with Lily would be reduced to if his best friend got her's killed?"

Harry watched as his godfather suppressed a guilty grin, and his father began to snigger, after turning ever so slightly pink at the mention of Lily's name. The scene started to distort as Lupin began to heave. James and Sirius shared a look, before taking out their wands and pointing them at one another, simultaneously transforming into a large stag, and a shaggy black dog. Harry smiled, and felt a cool air flood his senses as he travelled back to his office in the ministry. As he sat at his desk, watching a photograph of his own son, James, zoom about on a broomstick, he remembered his father's coloured cheeks from the thought of his mother, and knew what his next choice of memory would entail.


	6. Lily, In Transfiguration

Harry quivered with excitement as he leaned into the Pensieve, about to uncork the latest of his father's memories. This one was labelled "Lily, In Transfiguration" and Harry was hoping it would provide some insight to his parents' relationship, though the title really didn't give much away. He was about to pour the silvery liquid of the vial into the basin when there was a sharp knock on his office door, followed by, "Harry, are you in there?" Harry hastily plugged the cork back into the vial and pocketed it, before striding to his door, opening it only marginally, and offering a curt "yes?" to his visitor. It was Hermione.

She looked at him quizzically. She was wearing a white shirt and grey trousers with a pair of towering black heels. Her enormous bushy hair was held back by chop sticks. She must have been in court, Harry thought, before he somewhat grudgingly opened his door further, to let his old friend in. A horrible thought gripped Harry in that moment, as Hermione strode past him: what if she was hear to collect Ron's Pensieve? He wouldn't survive without it, he thought pathetically. He made a mental note to invest in one of his own, before he turned his attention to the woman in his office.

Harry leaned against his desk and invited her to do the same. She sat beside him, and he caught that familiar smell of Hermione; parchment.

"What are you doing?" She asked, as she eyes his immaculate desk, all papers and files put away for the day.

"I, erm," Harry struggled to think of an appropriate lie. He didn't exactly know why, but he wanted to keep his father's memories a secret, at least in the mean time, and enjoy them by himself.

Hermione glared at him, but didn't question him further. She stood up and made her way towards the window, and the Pensieve. Harry watched her move rather gracefully across the room. She was in a good mood. Perhaps she had had a productive day as Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation. He smiled at Hermione's title, remembering her story of how she first became interested in the branch of the Ministry during the Triwizard Tournament, and her brief relationship with Quidditch star Viktor Krum, from the foreign school Durmstrang. It was a story Ron didn't particularly enjoy, Harry recalled with a smile.

"Is this Ron's?" Hermione asked lightly, tracing her husband's initials in the stone rim of the Pensieve. Harry's heart began to beat. "Er, yes, he leant it to me a while ago to look at some memories. I'm not quite finished with it yet." He hoped he didn't sound too possessive.

"What memories are you looking at? Anything interesting?" She was only making conversation, but Harry could tell she would smell a rat soon, as she eyed him with interest. He gave up, and left his desk to join her at the window. He put his hands in his trouser pockets and as he gazed out at the Muggles swarming the streets of London, he began, "My father left a cabinet in the Department of Mysteries, full of extracted memories of his life, to show me in case he didn't survive the war." Harry continued to look out the window, even as he saw Hermione form a perfect 'o' with her mouth in surprise.

"Oh Harry, that's amazing! I mean, it must be quite emotional for you to see that, but wow, what an idea, and, what a discovery!" She smiled at him and moved closer, to press him for more information. He supposed she might as well know everything. He could always ask her to keep it to herself.

"Yeah, Luna came across this drawer called "James Potter's Life" but couldn't open it. It had been enchanted so only a descendant of his could get into it. Great magic," Harry added, feigning lightheartedness. Hermione wasn't fooled.

"It must be incredible to see him like that. I bet he's so much like you, and James and Albus," she said, smiling. He nodded, and offered a quiet "yeah." She touched his arm affectionately, imploring him to discuss it further. Harry looked up at her, unwilling to share his adventures with the Marauders, but a gloriously familiar look in her eye, of kindness and interest and just... Hermione, made him reach into his pocket and pull out the vial. He watched her look at it surprise, before she looked back at him, and he said suddenly, "Want to join me?"

Her look of delight told him everything, and he offered her his hand before uncorking the vial, emptying the contents into the Pensieve and taking a deep breath with his best friend to join his mother and father in Transfiguration.

Harry tumbled through time and space, never letting go of Hermione, before they both hit the stone floor of Professor McGonagall's classroom in Hogwarts Castle. The two gazed around in excitement, before getting up, brushing themselves off and taking a seat close to the front of the class. Harry and Hermione sat directly behind a boy with extremely scruffy black hair and glasses, another boy with casually windswept brown curls, a third boy with a slightly pallid complexion, and a fourth, rotund young boy with watery eyes. The Marauders. Harry motioned to them for Hermione, with a slight sense of pride. He watched as her eyes widened in fascination at seeing Harry's late father, godfather and their late teacher in teenage form. She gave the boy that was obviously Wormtail a look of disapproval, before giving Harry a look of excitement and anticipation. The two watched as the class filled up. Rows of tables filled with students of various houses, the Slytherins as usual remained together in a back corner of the room. Harry watched Hermione as she stood over a student who was already hard at work, reviewing and annotating notes from the previous lesson, and it was a moment before he realised the student had very long, auburn hair.

"Hermione," he whispered, though there was really no need, it wasn't like anyone was going to hear him, "that's Lily." He smiled as Hermione suddenly jumped back, then strode around the desk to crouch right in front of his teenage mother. Hermione rejoined him at their table eventually and said quietly, "She's beautiful." They turned to the front of the class as the door shut with a bang and a young-looking McGonagall marched in, officious as ever. Harry watched Hermione out of the corner of his eye, keen to see if she might absent-mindedly grasp for a quill or textbook or piece of parchment. She did no such thing, though.

"Well, sixth-years, welcome to your first N.E.W.T-level Transfiguration class. I shall begin by congratulating each one of you on attaining the required mark for this course in your Ordinary Wizarding Level. We shall, however, waste no more time with introductions, as there is much to get through-" Harry was already bored. He gathered from this that it was the start of his parents' sixth year, and that was all he needed to know. Hermione, however, seemed to be in her element. He stared at her, exasperated, as she heeded McGonagall's every word. "Hermione," he hissed, "you've already done this class, you got an 'O', you don't need to listen!"

She threw him a sharp look before turning her attention back to McGonagall. She then began to smile, and put her head in her hands at her own stupidity. The pair laughed at how easily she had slipped back into Hogwarts mode, before Harry motioned to his father, so they would both discover what this memory was about.

Lily was listening attentively to McGonagall, as were, Harry was surprised to see, his father and Sirius. That was until his father stole a glance at Lily. She had a galleon-sized white flower in her hair, and it took the thick curtain of her auburn locks that would have otherwise covered her face as she bent over her work and put it behind her ear. Harry watched as his father began to fidget, looking as often as he could at the girl's white skin, rosy cheek. He had lost concentration and was now beginning to fish about the table for a spare piece of parchment. Harry stood up, to peer behind his father's shoulder and find out what he had began to write. Hermione followed suit, and took the other shoulder. James was scribbling enthusiastically, smiling as he wrote. McGonagall had begun to walk around the classroom, offering help to individual students with their hands raised. James only paused in his writing to flash a look over to Lily, who was now chatting idly with the girls at her table.

James finally finished, and as he leaned back to quickly proof-read his masterpiece, Harry and Hermione finally got a good look.

_Dearest Evans,_

_I would like to register a formal complaint on behalf of my education. You see, you got out of bed this morning, washed, dressed and brushed your lovely white teeth, as I have grown to assume you always do, before picking up your bag, books and putting on your shoes to go down to breakfast. I recall you had toast this morning, you had a seed between your teeth but you got it out with your tongue. I admit that was enjoyable to watch..._

_Anyway, at some point amongst all these daily activities, you paused before the mirror, and decided today would be different. You decided that today, you would put a white flower in your hair. Now, I cannot be sure if this is a purely aesthetic addition to your always-exemplary appearance, or if there is perhaps a function, of which I am unaware, to this accessory. What I do know, however, is that this decision of yours, to put this flower in your hair, was absolutely catastrophic. _

_How, I implore you to tell me, do you possibly expect me to concentrate in a NEWT-level class, which by itself is exceedingly dull, when your usual cloak of disguise is removed? When your hair is behind the offending flower, and falling behind your ear, leaving your whole lovely right-side of face exposed for me to gaze at, mesmerised, for the entire duration of the class? _

_Already, it has taken me several minutes of valuable Transfiguration-information to write this to you. I have missed the introduction to the class, and am now forced to play catch-up for the remainder of the day, while the whole time, your profile is still right across the room, teasing me mercilessly._

_Now, you may suggest simply ignoring you, but I think you and I both know, after five full years and a day, that that is just not an option._

_You might even remove the flower. I have to tell you, that cannot help now, either. I will glance over, to see you hidden beneath that curtain of fiery loveliness, and be crippled by the desire to see, once again, that solitary ear, single rosy cheek, one green eye, and half a chin, and nose and forehead. The power it will take for me to resist the temptation to lean across the aisle and put your hair behind your ear myself will indeed be so distracting, I might never work again. _

_It may have been nothing to you, Evans, to wake up in the morning and put a flower in your hair, but in that one moment, in that decision, you have essentially ruined my life. One simply cannot be an Auror without an O in Transfiguration NEWT. While one simply cannot get an O with you and your face and your flower right across the room, distracting me, mitigating my success. _

_For five years (and one day) you have kept me locked in this destitute prison of distraction. I can bring myself to carry the burden of my weakness no more. I think I'll throw myself off Gryffindor Tower tonight. Good luck with that on your conscience, Evans. I was an only child..._

_Or you could always save my education, my career, my life, and no doubt enhance your own... Go out with me Evans. It's the right thing to do._

_All my love,_

_Your bespectacled soulmate James._

_"_He's not seriously going to send that to her, is he?" Hermione turned to Harry. They looked at one another, and Harry shrugged, enjoying the mixture of incredulity and fascination on Hermione's face. "It's _so _bigheaded of him!"

Harry watched with excitement as his father neatly folded the parchment, before pointing his wand at it and watching it float softly across the room to Lily's table. James, Harry, Hermione, and by this time Sirius, Lupin and Wormtail, watched as the parchment fluttered towards Lily before landing right on the tip of her nose. The other boys sniggered, but James watched her closely, as she impatiently unfolded the paper and read it, breathing in exasperation at the length of the piece. Harry watched his mother's best attempts at suppressing a smile, and maybe even a laugh, as she read and reread the note. She put it down, and for a moment looked like she was searching for a quill with which to respond, before she suddenly put her hand in the air, and shot James a mischievous glance. He suddenly recoiled, horrified at the impression she had given him of what was to come. Sirius began to laugh as her intentions became clearer.

Professor McGonagall eventually reached Lily, and after they exchanged a few brief words, the parchment changed hands, and the professor moved to the front of the class and turned to face all the students, before clearing her throat.

Harry and Hermione shared a look of disbelief, at the same time Sirius and Lupin began to shake uncontrollably with laughter at the embarrassment that was inevitably about to befall their fellow Marauder. James, meanwhile, was slowly turning purple.

Professor McGonagall spoke clearly, and emphasised James' comments about Transfiguration in particular with disdain. At each mention of hair, McGonagall theatrically motioned with her hand, gaining continual laughs from the students in the class. Sirius was literally holding his sides, and it was all he could do to avoid physically falling from his chair to roll about the floor. The Slytherins were even joining in, relishing seeing their rival Quidditch Captain squirm. Harry scanned the green and silver-dressed boys for Snape, who unlike the others, was not laughing. Instead, he was biting down on his lip with continual force, and his fists clenched until his knuckles were white. His eyes bore into the back of James' head with a look of undisguised hatred.

After it seemed hours had passed, McGonagall finished the reading with a look of thinly-disguised satisfaction. She looked straight at James, who was so low in his seat that he might as well have been entirely beneath the table, before she announced, "Mr Potter, I am going to take ten points from Gryffindor for your _paramount _disregard for this class." She paused for dramatic effect as the Gryffindor students in the class, who had previously been hysterical with laughter, suddenly groaned, and began to shoot looks of anger towards both James and Lily, the Snitch.

"Miss Evans, I am going to _award _Gryffindor ten points for your endeavours to help Mr Potter to re-engage with his studies by allowing him to be distracted by something other than _the white flower in your hair." _McGonagall folded the parchment, a look of triumph on her face, as James groaned loudly. The Gryffindors breathed a sigh of relief at the ten points being reinstated, before beginning to talk amongst themselves about personal highlights of the note. Harry listened to catch whispers of girls who explained to one another their jealousy of Lily, for having such an eloquent admirer in the gorgeous James Potter.

The class eventually ended, and Harry watched as Lily slowly rotated in her seat to face James, who was now sitting up, but with his face in his hands, attempting to draw out the heat from his cheeks. He caught her giving him a look of victory, before she laughed at him once, and moved her hand up to the flower in her hair and pulled it out. She stood up with her bag, and as she walked down the aisle, dropped the flower onto James' desk, before giving him a smirk with a raised eyebrow, and carried on.

Sirius barked out a laugh as the other two boys stared at James with interest. Harry watched as his father slowly picked up the flower, and twirled it in his hands. He smiled and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and announcing to his friends, "Boys, she's mine."

The scene began to fuzz as Harry watched his father put the flower to his nose and inhale the scent.

Harry and Hermione glided back to Harry's office, and sat, speechless for a while, at his desk. They exchanged a glance after a few minutes, and Hermione, still pink with embarrassment for James and excitement from her first memory back into Hogwarts, began to laugh, until she was gasping for air. She clutched her sides, and emitted high-pitched noises as she convulsed with the laughter over Harry's desk. The sight of Hermione so hysterical infected him, and he too began to laugh, until tears crept down his cheeks, as he closed his eyes and envisioned McGonagall's flamboyant hand motions and his father's maroon face. Hermione reached around Harry's neck and cried with laughter into his shoulder. He hugged her back tightly as the last wave of hilarity consumed him, and he kissed her on the cheek as he let her go, glad beyond words that he had been able to share the moment with her. She cupped his face in her hands and mouthed a silent "thank you" and wiped her eyes with her sleeve before taking a deep breath, composing herself and opening Harry's office door. He smiled and shut the door behind her, and instantly felt a renewed wave of affection for his old friend, especially when he could still hear her cackling far down the corridor.


	7. Tom

Harry strode past the magnificent oak doors that were entrance to the Department of International Magical Co-operation, as he made his twice-weekly trip to the Department of Mysteries to select another of his father's memories into which he could escape. After a rather testing reunion with Draco Malfoy that afternoon at Hogwarts (their sons had had a spat, unsurprisingly) Harry was ready to disappear into the past.

He sat at the top of the step-ladder and stared into the cabinet drawer. He gazed about the enormous room, and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't know whether or not he was imagining it, but he could have sworn he heard the whispers of the dead beyond the veil, one door between it and the room in which he resided. He remembered Lucius Malfoy's misfortune at destroying the Lost Prophecy before Voldemort got ahold of it. He had not fared well in the months subsequent to that mishap.

As Harry's thoughts turned to Voldemort and the Prophecy, he remembered something that had played on his mind for several years when he was younger, but that he had gradually forgotten about. His parents had defied Voldemort three times before they met their downfall in Godric's Hollow. What were the circumstances of those three encounters? Harry knew his parents had heard the prophecy from Dumbledore, and sure enough, there in the cabinet was a vial, with the simple label 'Tom'. Harry knew it was rather ambiguous, but he guessed this could be it.

He slipped off the ladder, and as he returned to his office, he paused by the entrance to Hermione's department. No, Harry thought, he didn't want her to see this. If he took her to another memory, it could be something nice, like his parents' wedding, or his first birthday.

Harry reached his office and locked the door. With a hint of apprehension, he uncorked the vial and released the memory into Ron's Pensieve. He took a deep breath and immersed himself in the basin.

Harry was in a thick forest. It was night-time, and the moon was a half-crescent. He weaved between the trees for a while before coming to a clearing, where six people stood, facing one another. His mother and father were with Lupin, wands out and pointed, at three masked Death Eaters. His father and Lupin were both in smart black suits. Harry had in fact never seen Lupin look so, well, _neat. _He guessed by their black ties that they might have been at a funeral. Lily, in the middle, was looking slightly chubbier in the face, and was totally covered by a long black cloak. All three were giving their opponents a look of utmost contempt, although Lily was visibly fearful. Harry was surprised. He imagined his mother, as such a powerful witch, and in the company of her husband and friend, would have been more confident.

As Harry crept around the circle, he saw his mother from the side, and realised suddenly that she was very heavily pregnant. He gaped in horror, and then turned to the Death Easters in a desperate attempt to identify them. One had a long, blonde ponytail protruding from the back of his mask. Lucius Malfoy, Harry didn't have to guess, was the Death Eater aiming his wand at Lily. He glanced at the other two. One was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, jerking his head to Lily every so often. Harry got closer, and eyed the pale hands and black, bat-like robes. He was sure it was a twenty-year-old Snape, who was pointing his wand, somewhat half-heartedly, at Lupin. Harry moved towards his father, who was visible sweating, and ghostly white. Harry could see he was clearly panicking for the safety of his family. The Death Eater opposite him seemed to sense this, too. From his build and demanour, he reminded Harry slightly of Sirius. Then he started to speak,

"Well, well, well, what have we here? The famous James Potter," he hissed. Harry's insides churned as he realised from the familiarity of the voice that it must be his godfather's brother, Regulus. Harry imagined that the young Death Eater wouldn't do too much damage, given his ultimate abandonment of Voldemort.

"And a _werewolf," _goaded Malfoy, twitching his head towards Lupin, who was staring curiously at the Death Eater opposite him. He frowned as Snape appeared agitated by Lupin's glare, and failed to react soon enough when Lupin suddenly screamed a spell, that pulled all three masks from the Death Eaters' faces. When they all had a good look at one another, Lupin began,

"Severus, what are you doing?" James' head snapped across to Snape, and before Harry could blink, he saw Regulus blast a jet of blue light at his father.

Lily screamed, as her husband was thrown back head-first against the trunk of a tree, and rendered unconscious. Regulus then pointed his wand at Lily, but Lupin blocked the curse. Malfoy got through though, and after a flash of silver, suddenly Lupin was covered in blood. He staggered backwards, and as he fell to the ground, caught the corner of Lily's cloak and pulled it. It was torn from her shoulders, and revealed her swollen stomach in a tight black jumper.

Snape physically recoiled. Harry watched as the bat-like Death Eater blinked repeatedly, as if making sure what he was seeing was real.

Regulus backed away, but his wand was still raised. As he glanced at Malfoy, as if searching for direction, Lily took her chance and screamed "_Stupefy!" _and Sirius' brother fell to the ground. She pointed her wand at Malfoy, sensing that Snape was not about to curse her. Indeed, Harry saw that Snape was in complete shock. He had lowered his wand, had a hand in his greasy hair, and his knees seemed to be failing him, all the while he could not seem to draw his eyes away from Lily's stomach.

Lily and Malfoy pointed their wands at one another for a full minute. The hand that was not holding her wand was protectively over her stomach. Eventually, she asked, in a nervous but steady voice, "Lucius, please, let us go, he doesn't have to know we were here."

Harry watched as Malfoy eyed her carefully. Draco could not have been more than a few months old at this point, he worked out. "Please, Lucius, go home to your boy." She began to back away, and a silent agreement seemed to take place between the pair. Lucius turned to Snape and motioned him to go and see to Regulus. Lily immediately fell to Lupin's side and muttered counter curses for the enormous gashes across his face and through his torso. As he sat up, and began to come to, Lily left his side to reach her husband. James was not badly hurt, Harry could see, but he was probably concussed.

Then, a ghastly wind began to blow in the clearing, like a tiny tornado, and Harry braced himself to see the face of Lord Voldemort for the first time in years. He looked desperately at his father, still leaning against the tree, who was not regaining consciousness fast enough. Lily had sensed the change in the air, and whipped around, wand at the ready, her eyes full of fear.

A younger Lord Voldemort, and somewhat more human-looking than Harry had ever seen, stood in the clearing. Lucius Malfoy was barely visible behind him, clearly terrified. Snape and Regulus crouched at a tree, and Harry watched Snape with an intense gaze; how was he going to react to the scene, in which the heavily-pregnant love of his life is in mortal danger from his own master?

Lily was standing upright, staring straight back at the figure before her, shielding the injured James. Harry suddenly remembered Lupin, and as he searched the clearing, realised he was nowhere to be seen. Had he really done the unthinkable, Harry thought, and abandoned his pregnant mother and unconscious father in the face of Voldemort and his Death Eaters?

Voldemort smiled chillingly at Lily, and Harry's insides curled as the dark wizard addressed her, "Ah, this must be the new Mrs Potter," Voldemort hissed, "and look at you, a Mudblood bearing a Pureblood's child. You are quite a disgrace." Voldemort grimaced as he began to inch closer to Lily. She held her wand steady, as Harry suddenly caught sight of his father, who had fully regained consciousness, and was staring intently into the forest. Harry narrowed his eyes, and saw a figure moving in the trees.

Suddenly, Voldemort had raised his wand, and Harry had half a second to digest the entire scene before him. As Voldemort began to scream the Unforgivable Curse, Snape's eyes widened in terror, and lunged forward involuntarily. At the same time, James leapt behind Lily and grabbed her around her middle, his wand in the air. The pair Apparated into thin air, skimming death by mere millimetres. As they vanished, Lupin suddenly appeared from the trees, and pointed his wand directly at Voldemort, screaming _"Expelliarmus!"_

Harry was transfixed by the dual, eager to see how Lupin had escaped his fight alone against Voldemort and three Death Eaters, but the scene began to distort again, since it was of course James' memory, and he had Apparated.

Harry had returned to his office, and was sitting at his desk, slowly rotating his wand in one hand. He recalled the image of his mother, the fear in her eyes as she could only shield her unborn baby with a hand across her stomach. He thought about Snape, his face as he realised he had truly lost Lily. She would always be bonded to his nemesis James, by their baby. He sympathised slightly for his old Potions master. It must have been heartbreaking. Harry then moved his thoughts to Regulus, similar but not uncannily so, to Sirius. His ultimate disloyalty to Voldemort had really saved Harry's life. He regretted how the younger Black's fate had transpired. Harry pondered Lucius Malfoy's loyalty to Voldemort even then, when the dark wizard was at his most powerful, but Harry knew what he wanted to find out next. Curiosity more than anything made him decide, he was going to find out whose funeral his parents and Lupin had attended, before their first terrifying encounter with Tom Marvolo Riddle.


	8. Party In The Gryffindor Common Room

Harry had planned his next memory. He was going to find out who had died shortly before his birth. He imagined it might have been someone on his father's side of the family. As far as he knew, James had been an only child, so in all likelihood it was Harry's paternal grandmother, since he knew Grandfather Potter had died when James was just 17. Or perhaps it was someone related to Sirius, Harry thought, which might have explained why he was absent from the party during James, Lily and Lupin's first encounter with Voldemort.

Harry stood up, about to make his familiar journey to the Department of Mysteries, when a sharp tapping noise came from his window. Harry turned to see a large snowy owl flapping outside, an envelope tied to its leg. It was young James Potter's owl. Harry opened the window and brought the bird in for a rest. He detached the envelope and left his office. He would read his son's update on life at Hogwarts on his way to the memory cabinet.

_Daddio,_

_Just a quick one, wanted to let you know I tried out as Chaser for Gryffindor Quidditch Team... AND I GOT IT! Hope you're proud, that's three generations of Potter men now! Can you make my first match, its the 22nd October. Al is happy and sends his love. I'm keeping an eye on Lily, she seems to be getting on fine._

_Maybe don't tell Uncle Ron, but I saw Rose looking kind of cosy with Scorpius Malfoy in Hogsmeade last week. Should I be worried? _

_Love, _

_James_

He read and reread his son's note. Harry's heart was filled with pride for his firstborn, and there was a spring in his step as he approached the door to the Department of Mysteries. He reached the memory cabinet and ascended the step-ladder. Staring into the drawer of vials, Harry decided he wasn't really in the mood for a funeral. He wasn't even certain the funeral would be documented here. Instead, Harry began to rummage through the labels for one that sounded more uplifting; more suitable for a celebration of his son's success. It took him a few moments, but there it was. "Party in the Gryffindor Common Room, 7th Year."

It was all Harry could do not to Apparate from the cabinet to his office. The anticipation bubbled in his insides. Harry considered all the elements that would have been relevant to James in this memory. Quidditch, James being Captain, Lily and James getting together at some point that year; Harry was excited.

Once again, he went straight past Hermione's department. Since all their children had left for Hogwarts now, Harry seemed to see less of her and Ron, and in fact the last time they had spoken had been when he had shared with her the memory of his father in Transfiguration. Harry vowed that the next memory he reviewed would be with Hermione. He had enjoyed the bonding time with her more than he anticipated, and was surprised at himself for not being the slightest bit guilty about keeping the memories from Ginny and Ron.

Harry got to his office, and without even bothering to lock his door, uncorked the vial and hastily emptied the contents into Ron's simmering Pensieve. He greedily plunged into the memory, eager to be back once again, in Gryffindor Common Room.

The scene was not quite as Harry had pictured it. Yes, there were hyper Gryffindors in every corner of the room and, he was surprised to see, even a few Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students, but it was clearly not a Quidditch celebration. The stone walls had been charmed gold and white. All the furniture had large bows on the armrests and legs, there were enchanted ribbons floating above people's heads, and confetti periodically fell from nowhere, to create a snow-like flooring. The window ledge, where Harry had witnessed his parents' first kiss a few weeks previously, had been transfigured into a giant white heart-shaped pillow. Romantic string music played boldly around the room, as if by enchantment, and Harry wondered, fleetingly, if this was a wedding celebration. The girls were mostly in dresses and heels, and the boys in suits and dress robes. All around were signs of a more sophisticated party. That was, until Harry's handsome godfather sauntered past, looking a little worse for wear, despite being clad in a suit and tie, and carrying what looked suspiciously like a bottle of Firewhiskey. Harry smirked, and turned to begin his search for his father. He moved through the crowd to find a huge buffet table, complete with every kind of meat, cheese and biscuit one could think of. Standing on a table alone, at the end of the buffet line, was a three-tier white wedding cake. Harry slipped through the crowd effortlessly, and as he reached the masterpiece, no doubt a creation of the house-elves, Harry read the icing, that seemed to glitter: "Congratulations Frank and Alice!"

Slowly, Harry's eyes moved above the cake to the enormous banner that wrote and rewrote in varying fonts the slogan, "Congratulations Frank and Alice: Finally Going Out!" Harry smiled at his own stupidity for not spotting the poster sooner. He quickly worked out the happy couple in the middle of the room, chatting enthusiastically to students of other houses, occasionally stealing a glance at one another. Alice Longbottom was slight and mousy-looking, but very pretty. It stung Harry to look at her, given what had become of the couple, recalling his visit to St Mungo's magical hospital in his Hogwarts days to visit Arthur Weasley. She had looked hollow, dishevelled and old far beyond her years then. Frank Longbottom was very tall, and well-fed, though Harry would certainly not say fat. He was smartly-dressed, and looked like an all-round decent young man. A thought occurred to Harry- he might give this memory to Neville for his birthday. Harry wouldn't struggle to remember, as both men had been born on the 31st July.

Harry moved into the crowd once again and found Remus Lupin by the roaring fire, locked in a close embrace with a pretty blonde girl Harry half-recognised as a member of the Bones family. Harry affectionately wondered what Lupin's eventual wife, the fiery Nymphadora Tonks, might have done had she seen this. With a smirk, he then reasoned that Tonks could not have been more than around seven years old at this point.

Harry turned once more to see a stunning redhead descend the staircase. His emerald-eyed mother, the Head Girl, had arrived, wearing a strapless black top, tight black jeans and high heels. Her auburn locks were swept to one shoulder, and Harry watched as her stark eyes seemed to search the room for a particular person. Harry's stomach gave a familiar squirm of delight. He loved seeing his mother like this, pretty, innocent, happy... Alive. Harry searched for his father. He didn't have to look far. James was virtually right next to Lily, smartly dressed as everyone else in the room, though there was something off about his demanour, as if he was not entirely comfortable. He watched as his father and mother disappeared into the crowd. He couldn't hear what was being said over the music and enthusiastic chatter of over a hundred students, but Harry gathered that James had asked her to go outside the Common Room with him, as they made their way towards the portrait door.

Harry followed the pair with haste, and clambered through the portrait hole alongside his mother, who did so effortlessly, despite the height of her shoes. James waited for the painting to swing shut. Harry was alone on the corridor with his parents. Lily stood expectantly, her arms folded, staring at James. His hands were in his pockets, and he was looking at her with a mixture of longing and awe. Silence had fallen, before James cleared his throat and said in an uncharacteristically shy voice, "You look beautiful."

Lily blushed slightly, and crossed the corridor to lean against a banister. She looked straight at James and said, "Thank you." She kept her gaze on the boy before her, waiting for him to begin explaining why he had taken her out of the party as soon as she had arrived. One of her hands made a half-move towards James, Harry noticed, as if she was about to touch his arm, but decided against it. James took a deep breath, and moved to sit beside Lily on the banister. He looked like he was about to start talking, and he was rubbing his palms together, when Lily asked, "How was the funeral? I saw Black in there looking like he was drowning his sorrows a bit... I'm really sorry, James." James stared determinedly at his feet, and Harry saw he was trying to blink away a tear from the memory of his father's funeral the day before. Lily's hand crept between James' and gave them a squeeze. The tenderness of the moment caught Harry, and he drank in the scene before him. His beautiful young parents, their faces barely two inches apart, their legs touching, their fingers intertwined between James' knees, and the emotion of the conversation. James took a deep breath and said, "I just wanted to say, well, thanks Evans, for the other night and everything. It was," he paused, and stood up, looking with thinly-disguised longing into her eyes, "a real comfort." He smiled sadly and disappeared back into the portrait hole, and Harry had to follow the memory, and leave his mother, tearful, flushed and confused, in the corridor.

Back in the Common Room, James had found Sirius, and the two were now swigging from the Firewhiskey with vigour, lying alone together on the heart-shaped window ledge. If it hadn't been a sad occasion for the two boys, Harry might have laughed. They were struggling to sit up straight, such was the wobbliness of the cushion. As Harry got closer, he saw both boys had tears in their eyes.

"Remember the time he took us to that Muggle pub, and tried to get us to drink Muggle beer?" Sirius howled, as James held his sides in drunken laughter. "He tried to pay with a Galleon, and the barmaid just about wet herself!" Harry's father recalled, pausing only for a breath in his laughter to watch Lily come back through the portrait hole, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. James sighed with sadness, before looking back at Sirius and beginning, "Padfoot, I hate to break it to you, but without my father, I am now the number one man in your life. No Papa Black, no Papa Potter. You answer to me, now," James managed to form a wry smile through the drunken tears, and Sirius put his arm around his best friend's shoulders. "You are indeed, my guiding light now, Prongs."

"I love you, bro," said James, full of emotion.

"Right back at you, JP," replied Sirius, and the two sat, holding one another tightly, for a short while.

"Prongs?" Sirius slurred a short while later, his eyes beginning to droop, "I don't think this, lying here with a handsome man like me, is going to gain you any favour with our flame-haired female friend Evans now, is it?"

"She doesn't want me anyway, Padders," James sighed sadly, "she only snogged me that night out of pity."

"Aw man, I'm sorry," Sirius pouted genuinely for his friend, "all those years saving your first kiss for her, and she didn't even fancy you."

James stared into the crowd as Sirius' words seemed to land like little bullets. Harry felt for his father as he stared again at his feet and sighed in resignation.

"I'm going to bed, to cry about my late father, bereft mother and broken heart," James announced dramatically, before staggering to his feet, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to sober up, and beginning to approach the crowd to reach the dormitories.

Harry followed his weepy father as he shook Frank Longbottom's hand, and gave Alice as warm a smile as he could muster, before ascending the staircase. At the buffet table, Lily watched as James left the party, and Harry caught sight of her coming up the stairs behind him. His father opened his bedroom door, and Harry slipped inside. James had pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, before rubbing his eyes, when a knock came from the door. Harry stood and watched as his father grumbled, "It's open" and Lily then slipped inside. It shut with a 'clunk' behind her as she looked up at James, and, finding him half-naked, simply said, "Oh."

James looked back, surprised, and vaguely amused, but mostly sheepish, and said, more to the floor than to Lily, "I think you're a bit lost, Evans." But Lily had regained her composure, and Harry watched as she boldly crossed the room, still in her heeled shoes, and grabbed James by the bare shoulders, and looked him in the eye, "James, I know you're hurting at the moment, with your father, it must be awful. But," she stopped and waited for him to take his eyes off the carpet and look back at her, "the other night didn't happen because I _pitied _you. It happened because... Well, because we wanted it to!" She paused as James' expression changed from complete misery to curiosity. She continued, "I- I've wanted to do, you know, for a while, and I'm sorry if the timing put you off, I really regret that, but, I just thought you should know that I meant it, kissing you, and I don't want you to feel like it was, a- a mistake, because... It wasn't." She finished. Harry watched his mother take a step back from James to gauge some sort of reaction. He looked puzzled, and flushed. Lily waited what she seemed to deem an appropriate amount of time for a response, before her almost-smile faded away. Whatever she had been hoping to get from her speech, clearly wasn't coming, as James remained rooted to the spot, perplexed, and staring once again at the floor. She backed away slowly, a single tear forming out the corner of one eye, and it fell as she turned back towards the door.

As if by magic, James finally came to his senses. He leapt to life, and Harry watched, transfixed, as his father shot straight past him to the door, and threw an arm above Lily's shoulder to slam the oak shut again. Lily spun round, finding herself trapped between the door and James Potter's bare torso. She breathed in his scent, and looked deep into his hazel eyes behind his glasses, before reaching around to hold his naked waist. James' hand that was not on the door stroked Lily's cheek, before reaching behind her neck and pulling her face towards his. The two stood, kissing, for a long moment, as Lily's hands went from James' waist to his back to around his neck, and James reached down to her middle and picked her up. She wrapped her legs around him, and as they broke off their kiss, she buried her head in his shoulders and hugged him tightly.

When James eventually let Lily down, they took a step back from one another and exchanged a small smile and a nervous laugh. Finally, Lily said, "I should probably," and motioned to the door with her thumb. James nodded. "Yeah, I should, too." He looked back at his empty bed, and Harry watched his exhausted father sigh, as if regretful of his tiredness, for he could probably have kissed Lily Evans all night otherwise. Lily approached him once more, and leaned in to brush James' lips with her own. "Goodnight, Potter," she whispered into his open mouth. "Goodnight, Evans," replied James, stealing one last kiss before opening the door for her, and watching her descend the staircase. As the door shut, Harry was left alone with his father, who promptly fell to his knees in the middle of the dormitory, his face in his hands, and began to yell incoherently, in a clear mixture of delight and disbelief. Harry commended him, for his six years of perseverance had actually paid off. He had got the girl.

From the corner of the dormitory there suddenly came the sound of muffled laughter. James and Harry looked up at the exact same time, to see Lupin and Peter sitting on the window ledge, staring at James with an indescribable look of glee, pride and surprise upon their faces. A box of Every Flavour Beans sat between them; they had gone unnoticed the entire time by all three Potters.

As Harry sat back down in his office at the Ministry in the present tense, he twiddled the rebottled memory between his fingers, and concluded it probably would not send out the clearest message to Neville, if he were to give the gift of the Potters' second-ever snog to him on his fortieth.


	9. The Wedding

Harry stood before the enormous wooden doors that separated him from the Department of International Magical Co-operation, and look both left and right down the empty corridor, before hauling one door open and slipping inside.

Harry loved Hermione's department. The floors and walls were all a sleek white marble, and the ceiling gave an illusion of simply going on forever. Harry watched witches and wizards, all quite attractive, and all well-dressed, scurry along balconies and from desk to desk. Everyone seemed busy and important. As he began to make his way through the main entrance, he received a few interested looks, but to see Harry Potter skulking about the _farthest_ corners of the ministry was not at all uncommon, and it was mostly young trainees now from whom he received the most attention.

Harry walked with one hand in his pocket, tightly clutching the latest of his father's memories in a glass vial, lest anyone attempt to pickpocket him. He looked left and right for the familiar mane of bushy brown hair, until suddenly a voice cried, "Harry!" He looked up to see Hermione striding towards him, in a sharp suit and tamed hair in a knot at the back of her head. He was pleased to see she had her coat on and bags with her; she was done for the day.

"Hey," Harry began, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek, "what are you doing this afternoon?" She looked at him with mild curiosity before replying, "Oh, done work for the day now, thank goodness. Just spent the last four hours arguing with a French troll translator. Arrogant arse is convinced Troll is different in every human language, but he can think again if he thinks I'm going to put Galleons into hiring a French, Flemish _and _German translator for four Trolls, I mean good grief, we have _Grawp, _and _I _don't even need a translator..." She trailed off, and Harry watched her cheeks flush with contempt for the disagreeable French man. He smiled, and whispered beside her, so no one else around them might hear, "I have another of my father's memories." She looked up at him, startled, then curious. "I was wondering if you'd like to join me?" He took the glass bottle out of his pocket and passed it to her so the label was face-up. She took ahold of it and read the label, exclaiming, "Oh _Harry!_ Their wedding! I'd love to!" He grinned and took the memory back from her.

The department doors were ceremoniously thrown open for the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation and her famous friend, and as they ascended the staircase en route to Harry's office, Hermione's excitement became more apparent, such was her enthusiastic chat. "You're so lucky he made this for you, what a wonderful gift, to be able to attend your parents' wedding! How lovely! I suppose this is just another in the long list of the benefits of having non-Muggle parents..." She trailed off again, but Harry watched her out the corner of his eye, before asking tentatively, "Has there been any more luck with Wendall?"

Over twenty years ago, when Hermione, Ron and Harry had begun their search for Voldemort's Horcruxes, Hermione had Obliviated her parents' entire memory of her. As far as they were aware, they were a childless couple who wanted to emigrate to Australia. After Voldemort's defeat, Hermione had immediately ignited a search for them, travelling to Australia on several occasions. However, she had done an excellent job of the spell, and they were proving difficult to locate within the vast expanse of Australia. Ten years ago, when her children were still very young, Hermione had received a letter from the Australian Ministry, with whom she'd left detailed descriptions of her parents. A woman had drowned on the Great Barrier Reef, when her oxygen failed under water. She matched the description Hermione had provided of her mother.

In a stroke of bad luck, the couple had divorced out in Australia, and Hermione's father had, according to Muggle records, moved to Thailand and remarried. It had crippled his best friend, Harry recalled with frightening clarity, that Hermione's spell had kept her parents safe from Voldemort, but her decision to send them to Australia had broken them up, and killed one of them anyway. Harry hoped it was a demon she was finally beginning to overcome.

"No, nothing more," Hermione said eventually, as they reached Harry's office door. He offered her a sad smile, before opening the door for her. They stalked across the messy room to the Pensieve, and Hermione effortlessly flicked her wand over her shoulder to lock the door. She took a stance opposite Harry at the foggy stone basin, and smiled slightly childishly in anticipation, as he emptied the glass vial labelled "The Wedding of Mr and Mrs James Potter" and gave her one last look of excitement, before they both took a deep breath and tumbled back in time to the commencement of Harry's parents' marriage.

It was a cold day. December or January Harry guessed, as he and Hermione landed outside a quaint little hotel on a hillside. It was whitewash with a wooden latticed porch, and from the view behind the building, Harry imagined there would be a rather spectacular balcony around the other side. Harry read the sign over the entrance, "_Carnegie Lodge Hotel" _and surmised they were in Scotland. His parents had got married in Scotland, Harry repeated inwardly. He wanted to absorb every last detail of this, probably the happiest day of his father's life.

Harry turned to Hermione, who was brushing herself off, but not really paying attention, as she was distracted by the sudden eruption of a hundred sharp popping noises.

_Crack. _An old couple appeared from nowhere, onto the porch of the hotel. The woman was in a fuchsia-pink dress suit at which Harry wrinkled his nose. The curly-haired witch gave him the impression of a cross between his Aunt Petunia and Dolores Umbridge. The husband looked alright though, in a kilt and a large cloak. He had a large chunk missing from his nose, and Harry realised with a squirm that it was Mad-Eye Moody. Hermione had recognised him too, and they watched with fascination as the couple held hands and marched swiftly into the hotel.

_Crack._ A young couple Harry recognised as Frank and Alice Longbottom appeared from thin air in the car park. Alice was in a silver dress, looking very petit and pretty, while Frank was looking slightly intimidating in a sharp suit. His wand was even visible from his pocket. Harry saw at once he was not an Auror to be messed with.

_Crack. _Another old couple.

_Crack. _Dumbledore! He looked healthy and happy, and had arrived with Professors Slughorn, Sprout and McGonagall, all of whom were simply younger versions of the teachers Harry already knew.

_Crack. _A group of tall, cloaked ministry officials appeared, and without sparing a glance at the other guests, swished into the hotel. Harry and Hermione stood together watching familiar faces and new, begin to arrive. Harry wondered how this was in his father's memory, given that James himself was nowhere to be seen. He decided to look for him, and turned to Hermione to suggest they move inside, but she grabbed his arm, and pointed excitedly, "Look!"

A young red-headed couple were getting out of a battered blue Ford Anglia in the car park. Their three sons leapt from the back seats of the vehicle, and Harry watched as a very-heavily pregnant Molly Weasley struggled out of the front seat to get to her feet. The boys were easy enough to tell apart. Bill's hair was a darker red than the rest, and his clothes were new- the benefit of being firstborn, Harry supposed. Charlie was waving his father's wand with vigour, and Hermione laughed as she saw sparks fly from the wand, and little Charlie recoiled in terror. Percy was very small, but his hair was combed to perfection, and even as a toddler, seemed to be walking as if he had a pencil lodged in his backside.

Harry watched his father-in-law gather the two younger boys in his arms and wait for his heaving wife to catch up to them, before they slowly made their way into the hotel with the other guests. Harry noticed many of the older witches shoot looks of annoyance at the three little boys, no doubt hoping they would not be at their dinner table later on.

"It's so strange to think Ron and Ginny don't even exist to them yet," Hermione whispered into Harry's ear, and he smiled with gratitude that Fred and George had not been girls, otherwise he suspected Arthur and Molly might have finished with them, and never provided Harry with a best friend, nor the love of his life.

Hermione motioned for the two of them to go inside. The entrance was small, and Harry could see through glass doors there was a large ballroom decorated for the wedding ceremony, where already guests were beginning to take their seats. Harry turned around, and suddenly saw his handsome godfather peering into the hall from behind a frosted glass door. Quickly, Harry grabbed Hermione's wrist and pulled her through. They were in the groom's dressing room, and Harry was silently thankful that all four of the Marauders were fully dressed by this point, given that he had Hermione with him.

James Potter was green. He was staring himself down in a full-length mirror, trying and failing to sort out his tie. Sirius, looking immaculate in matching dress robes as best man, was swigging casually from a hairy black hip-flask and seemed to be rather enjoying watching James squirm. Wormtail was having trouble tying up the final buttons on his suit trousers, and Lupin was peeking out the window from behind the blind, naming witches and wizards for James as he watched them Apparate. Harry would have done a double-take of Lupin had he seen him from the front. He was looking healthy, with a glow in his cheeks, and he was completely shaven, unlike during his time as a dishevelled Hogwarts teacher. Hermione smiled as she took in the four young men. Harry had worked out that his father and mother were just twenty years old when they married. He imagined the ceremony was taking place in such a small, remote area for safety purposes. Since his parents were so heavily involved with the Order it would have been prudent to remain low-key and avoid the risk of an intrusion of dark wizards.

Harry approached his father from behind, and the two men, Harry now nearly twice the age of his father, stared at themselves in the mirror. Despite his clear anxiety, James seemed excited. He looked from left to right, from Sirius to Lupin, smiling nervously. Sirius stood beside his best friend and clapped him on the back.

"I remember the first Hogwarts Express journey, Prongs, when you fell in love with her straight away," Sirius said with a wink and a smirk. "Who'd've thought she'd marry you?" The young men laughed, and exchanged glances at one another. Lupin let the curtain at the window fall, and he and Wormtail joined Harry's father and godfather in a close embrace. James was blushing and beaming. Sirius' face seemed a combination of excitement and incredulity. The other two were simply smiling, and seemed happy for their friend on his special day. Harry glanced at Hermione, who was wiping a solitary tear from her cheek. He put an arm around her and offered a half-hug as they watched his father and his friends exit the room, for the lodge's main reception room.

Hermione turned to Harry, and gripped his hand tightly with hers. "Thank you so much," she smiled through her tears, "for sharing this with me. It means so much, Harry, it really, really does."

Harry's eyes began to sting as he looked back at his best friend, emotional and grateful. "I'm glad you're here, too," he replied with a smile, and then he lead her into the reception room, where about fifty witches and wizards were gathered to witness the wedding of Lily Evans and James Potter.

Harry and Hermione found a couple of extra seats at the very back. Harry watched Hermione from the corner of his eye as she searched the crowd for more familiar faces, and occasionally made a small gasp, or squeal of excitement. Harry simply watched his father. James was shifting from foot to foot. He was sweating, and kept making pleading faces to his right-hand man, Sirius, as if willing the wait for his bride's arrival to be over.

All of a sudden, a harp's delicate song began to echo through the room, and the French doors at the bottom of the aisle were thrown open. Harry and Hermione watched in awe as one beautiful bridesmaid after another glided down the aisle to the alter. Each was wearing a champagne-coloured dress and holding a bouquet of flowers of assorted bright colours. Hermione giggled and nudged Harry as she indicated to the electric-coloured shoes of each bridesmaid. The harp song gradually changed, and suddenly the congregation rose, and Harry felt Hermione squeeze his hand as they turned round to watch his mother walk down the aisle.

She was a vision. Her long auburn locks were sleek and shiny and pushed to one side. She wore a veil over her face that couldn't dim the brightness of her emerald eyes, and her simple white dress floated her down the aisle towards James. As the bride passed, Harry saw her hands shaking slightly as they held her unusual bouquet. She needn't have worried, Harry thought with a squirm, as he watched his father drink her in from the alter. James stood rooted to the ground. He certainly wasn't frowning, but nor did he smile. He seemed utterly in awe of the girl approaching him. After what seemed like an age she eventually reached him, and Harry watched as his father offered her a hand to help her up the alter steps in her monstrous high heels. Their fingers remained intertwined as Lily passed off her bouquet to a bridesmaid, and the ceremony began.

The perfect picture began to haze, and Harry would not see the vows, but as he started to feel pulled back to present time, he watched closely as his father silently mouthed words to his mother, "Thanks for coming."

Hermione sat cross-legged in the middle of Harry's office. The lights were off, outside it was dark and the sky was moonless. Harry sat opposite her leaning against the pensieve. They didn't need to talk to share their feelings. The pair just looked at one another and smiled through the darkness. "Next time you take me," Hermione began, "I want to see the day you were born." They got to their feet, and she lightly kissed him on the cheek before closing the office door behind her. Harry smiled, and returned to his space on the floor. How he wished he could escape the heavy weight his heart carried after each pensieve encounter with his tragic parents.


	10. The Marauders Babysit

"The Maurauders Babysit." Harry couldn't wait to see this one. He skipped out of the Department of Mysteries and straight past Hermione's office. Today's memory was one he wanted to enjoy alone. Finally reaching his office, he locked the door and bounced to the corner of the room where a foggy basin stood, gleaming against the sunlight from the window. Ron had finally called for the return of his Pensieve, and Harry had perused the Ministry of Magic until he found a suitable replacement: the Pensieve that had been in Professor Albus Dumbledore's possession prior to his death.

Harry felt an eerie sense of deja vu as his head sank into that familiar bowl, this time following the memory of his father. His head began to spin uncontrollably, before he came to an abrupt stop on his bottom in the middle of a cramped living room.

Godric's Hollow was cosy, Harry registered, as he unsteadily got to his feet and brushed himself off. His parents' living room was a dark green colour, somewhat reminiscent to the colour of Harry's eyes. He took in the room, which he had never seen in detail in its pre-Voldemort visit form, and smiled. Both Muggle and magical pictures of family members hung on the walls. Several Gryffindor scarves from various years at Hogwarts swung from the ceiling. There was a low mahogany chest in the centre of the room, surrounded by maroon couches. The dark carpet was fluffy, and Harry felt a slight urge to take his shoes off and sit down for this memory, though he resisted. He leaned over the chest that was acting as a coffee table. Sheets of parchment of varying lengths in various handwritings were scattered semi-systematically. Many of them, Harry noticed with a clench of excitement, were in Dumbledore's trademark green ink. Harry circled the room once more before leaving to inspect the rest of the house.

From the kitchen door down the corridor behind Harry, James Potter emerged, tall and untidy as ever, bespectacled, casually-dressed and carrying a black-haired baby who was grizzling into his father's shoulder. Harry looked at his 8-month-old self with a strange interest. Despite his many ventures to his father's memories, this was the first one in which Harry had seen himself, at any age. He wondered vaguely if this might have been the only memory James had had time to stash of Harry actually being born. He looked at the grumpy baby, and spotted the clear skin beneath his little fringe, where no scar had yet been made.

Harry wondered idly where his mother, Lily, might be. He remembered that by this stage the Potters would be in hiding from Voldemort. The Fidelius Charm had not yet been cast, however, Harry knew this much. He watched James bounce the baby on his hip in the hall for a few moments, before poking his head through the other doors in search of Lily. She was not in the tiny dining room, nor in the airy and surprisingly large yellow kitchen at the back of the house. Harry re-entered the cramped corridor with his father and infant self. James was now cooing to Baby Harry "Ooooh, little chap, mama bear doesn't feel too well. It's going to be just you and Daddy and Godfather Woof-Woof and Uncle Moony and Uncle Wormy tonight! What shall we doooo?"

Harry clenched his fists in a fit of adrenaline. He would see his godfather again, Sirius Black, as well as Remus Lupin, his favoured friend and Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Having the traitor Pettigrew there would be a small price to pay, he decided.

A few moments passed when a bark came from the opposite side of the house. James carried Baby Harry on his hip through to the kitchen, as Adult Harry followed. A glass door that lead to a little garden was in the corner of the room, behind which Sirius, in Animagi form, was clearly visible. Lupin and Wormtail were also there, looking human, and smiling broadly. Distaste rose from the pit of Harry's stomach to his mouth as he watched his ignorant father welcome Wormtail into his little yellow kitchen. His warm home, where he kept his wife and his baby. Harry walked across the room and stood right by Wormtail, as if trying to sense the betrayal- had it occurred to him yet? Had Voldemort yet infiltrated his weak mind? Harry's mouth was dry as each of the three visitors greeted James and Baby Harry in turn.

"Helloooo, my favourite boy. Look at that hair, just like Daddy's, you poor thing!" Sirius winked at the baby, then turned to his best friend. "Alright, Prongs, God you're gaining weight. Really need to get you out of here soon," he playfully punched his friend on the arm as James himself scoffed, and Baby Harry gurgled in delight.

"Come to Uncle Moony, little one," Lupin said soothingly to the baby, and opened his arms. Baby Harry at once lunged forward and grasped the man's shabby robes and drooled with glee.

"Don't know what his fascination is with you, mate, sorry," James laughed, and clapped Lupin on the back.

Adult Harry watched with satisfaction as Baby Harry grimaced at Wormtail, who was trying to tickle the baby's cheek, before suddenly clamping down on the man's index finger ferociously.

"Ow!" The already-watery-eyed little man jumped back in horror, clutching his hand, as the other three men howled with laughter.

"He's a biter, Wormy, got his gnashers coming in at the moment, forgot to say," James winked, then ushered them all through to the living room.

The four big men and one little baby all assembled around the coffee table on the couches, Sirius taking one up for himself, James and Lupin on the other, leaving Wormtail a spot on the floor. Harry watched them from the doorway as they exchanged hearty smalltalk and passed the baby around, taking turns to chat to him in whatever manner they find appropriate. Wormtail was very much a goo-goo ga-ga sort, which didn't appear to amuse Baby Harry too much, much to Adult Harry's delight. Sirius tickled him and pulled funny faces, where the baby gurgled and grizzled with merriment, before returning again to Lupin to curl into a ball on his lap and promptly fall asleep.

"It is funny how you're his favourite, Moony," James laughed, registering the look of devastation on Sirius' face. "Lily says it, too, you're a natural with him."

"Yeah, you'll be great when you've got your own kids, Moony," chipped in Wormtail. Lupin's expression was sombre. "I doubt I'll have children, Wormtail. Given that I'm only half human, and all," muttered Lupin. James offered his friend a pitied expression, Wormtail blushed, and Sirius laughed it off, before swiftly changing the conversation.

They talked about lots of things, the Order, Dumbledore, Lupin's missions to recruit other werewolves, Quidditch, Harry, and Hogwarts. Still though, Harry didn't know where his mother was. He presumed, if she were ill, she would be upstairs in bed. The men chatted idly for a few more minutes before James left to retrieve a bottle of Firewhisky from the kitchen.

Harry wandered after him into the yellow room. James was crouching into the back of a cupboard, and produced an unopened bottle of Firewhisky. He took four tumblers from a glass cabinet beside his head, and sat three of them on the kitchen unit. With the fourth, he poured himself a small measure. Then, to Harry's surprise, as his father stared into the space before him, James began to talk.

"Son, if you're here without me, it means I didn't make it. I didn't survive the war. I've been saving these memories and putting them away just in case. More than anything, I want to be able to take you to that Department cabinet myself. I want to laugh with you, my son, at all the wonderful experiences I've had. I want you to be proud of me. I want you to know how much-"

His voice hitched, Harry could barely breathe. The lump in his throat could sink a ship. His father was really, really talking to him.

"-I want you to be able to _see _how wonderful my life is, how wonderful your mother has made it, how alive I feel with her here." James began to cry softly, tears fell from his face and hit the kitchen unit. He took a sip of his drink and carried on.

"I love you both _so very much, _Harry. I hope that your life has been everything I wanted for you. I hope you have been loved, I hope you have been safe. I hope you have loved Hogwarts the way I did. I hope very much that Sirius has been there to be as wonderful a godfather to you as he has been a friend and brother to me."

Harry began to sob, as the kitchen unit, and forty years, separated him from his weeping father.

"I hope if you are a father, that it brings you all the joy that you have brought me. God, oh God I really hope you got to meet your mother. Jesus, I hope you knew her," James' eyes light up, "Maybe you _still _know her. Will you show this to her if she will let you? I promise, other than teaching you to ride a broomstick and the secret passages of Hogwarts, I really have nothing to offer you-" James barked a sad laugh- "but Lily, oh God Lily, she is amazing, Harry. She is cool, and she is kind, and she is everything I ever wanted and nothing I ever deserved.

"If you are here with me, my son, I saved you. But God, I hope and I _pray, _that I saved your mother. Really... Truly, I do."

James inhaled deeply, and laughed at the space in front of him, before raising his glass to it, and downing the Firewhisky. He stalked out from behind the kitchen unit and back into the living room with the other Marauders, and the memory began to fade as Harry fell to his knees, clutching his face with his hands and grieving, truly grieving, for his unreachable father.


End file.
